Coffee at 12 AM
by stillkneedeep
Summary: If coffee is god, then Klavier Gavin is the devil. //klavierxema.//


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

* * *

It's almost 12 o'clock AM, and Detective Ema Skye **should** be at home, asleep in her bed, covered by her warm, fuzzy covers. 

Instead, she's sitting at a crowded desk, looking over all sorts of case files. Her eyes are itchy and dry from lack of blinking and her hair has long been let out of its little ponytail. Her long, brown locks are tousled from her running her hand through her hair in frustration. She drums her fingernails on the tabletop, unable to focus on the file in her hand—some strange case involving circus performers and a sneezing lion.

She sighs irritably as her thoughts drift back to the reason why she's poring over case files at 11:43 pm on a Monday night, when she could be sleeping in her comfy bed in her snug little apartment.

"Well, if it isn't my little working girl!"

Speak of the devil.

Ema rolls her chair backward in a swift motion (hee, rolly chairs: one of the few perks of being a detective) and glares at the intruder, who comes bearing two steaming cups bearing the logo of a local coffee shop. Granted, coffee sounds like nirvana right now, but Ema isn't going to cave.

"Oh. Klavier. It's you." The girl turns away from the handsome blonde prosecutor, picking up her trademark glasses from the desk and pretending to be very absorbed in rubbing off a nonexistent speck of dust.

Ema can practically feel his smug grin hitting her back. She twitches slightly, almost snapping her glasses in half, but she keeps her composure, setting the glasses down and picking up the case file once more. She runs her eyes across the page, pretending to read the long and dull sentences, but all she's really doing is drinking in the scent of the coffee.

Coffee sounds godlike. No. Coffee is god. Or rather, coffee will be god tomorrow morning, when she's so tired she falls asleep in the meeting.

"Thirsty, fraulein?"

If coffee is god, then Klavier Gavin is the devil.

"No. I'll pass."_–Regina Berry, who, at the time, was the object of Sean Dingling's affections—_

"You sure? I put lots of cream and sugar in. Just like you like it."

Ema pauses. "…And how do you know how I like my coffee? Are you stalking me, or something?"

"I plead the fifth." His voice is teasing.

There's silence for a few moments, minus Klavier's shuffling when he moves and Ema's quiet whispering of the words as she reads to herself. Suddenly, she senses him getting up, and resists the urge to throw something at the wall. _Going out for **pastries** now, are we?_

But the brunette is surprised when she finds the attractive German prosecutor leaning over her from behind. His scent (some type of popular cologne that she's sure she's heard of) and the scent of coffee (sweet, sweet caffeine) surround her. She sighs and massages her temples lightly with her fingers.

"What is it _now_,** Mr. Gavin**?" She puts the emphasis on his name, snubbing his authority.

"I was wondering if you wanted _your_ coffee,** Miss Skye**." Damn, he's good.

Ema opts to say nothing and instead turns the page, beginning to read all about the murder weapon. She's suddenly aware of him shifting, and before she knows it, he's waving the coffee back and forth in front of her face, like he's trying to hypnotize her. Unable to stand it anymore, she smacks his hand—hard.

"Will you get that out of my face!?" _Despite the fact that I really, __**really**__ want to just snatch that and chug it down!_

Klavier smiles, and, setting down the coffee cup, circles around her desk, dragging up a seat and sitting on the other side. She glares daggers at him and he grins that annoyingly striking grin of his. He leans forward just a little too close to her, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head on his hands. As he does so, his "G" necklace lightly hits the desk.

"Mr. Klavier."

"Yes, Miss Skye."

"Is there any reason that you feel the need to violate my space?"

"Yes, there is indeed."

"Would you care to explain it?"

"If you wish so."

"I do."

"Very well then. See, you're far too pretty to not look at. So, naturally, the best place to sit is right in front of you, where I can have the perfect view." He smiles politely, but who knows what he's really thinking?

All the color rushes the Ema's face and she turns several different shades of red before managing to stupidly splutter out, "You—You're j-joking."

"If that's what you want to believe."

She wants to snarl. To growl. To kick him in the face.

Sadly, all she can manage to do is snatch up her case file and continue reading, shielding him from her view with the papers. A few seconds later, his fingers gently push the paper downward. Ema growls slightly.

"What the hell are you doing **now**?"

"Those papers are obstructing my view."

The brunette jumps to her feet, knocking her chair over backwards. "You… You creep! I'm not a piece of art or something!"

Klavier stands up as well, grinning again. "Ah, but you are."

Ema finds herself unable to find any words at all. She could feel her cheeks flushing, but she simply couldn't manage to choke anything out—not even a simple "I hate you" or "Leave me alone."

The blonde prosecutor sighs. "Miss Skye, when will you admit that you are hopelessly attracted to me?"

The girl twitches slightly, and, glancing at the coffee cup that still sits untouched on her desks, finds her words. "**In your dreams.**" With those three words, Ema picks up the coffee cup, removes the lid, and empties the contents onto Klavier's head—whipped cream and all. She sniffs, picks up the case files that she has yet to read, and stuffs them into her bag.

Turning on her heel, Ema Skye marches out the front door of the police station and heads toward the nearest train station.

* * *

The next morning, Klavier (who still reeks of coffee) gets Ema back by pouring the entire water cooler on her when she falls asleep during her meeting. 

He then asks her if she needs help drying her clothes.

For the rest of the day, prosecutors, detectives, and police officers would wonder why the renowned Klavier Gavin was walking around with a large red handprint on his right cheek.


End file.
